


She's Got Blood In Her Eyes

by lightningwaltz



Category: Pretty Little Liars, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Major Spoilers, conspiring villains, crossovers, crossovers that no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>There’s something unglamorous about arson.</i> 'A' consults with Moriarty. [Crossover fic. Beware of spoilers!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's Got Blood In Her Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow the idea that A conspired with Moriarty got stuck in my head during the last few episodes of Pretty Little Liars. When I learned that A (or at least the person on the 'A-Team' doing most of the dirty work) was Mona, I really, really, felt compelled to write this. Mona and Moriarty in the same room = too much conniving amazing-ness for me to pass this concept by. 
> 
> I try to account for the possibility of Alison either 1. Being dead and Mona knowing who did it. or 2. Still being alive. Just to avoid minimal jossing in the future. 
> 
> Wheeee.

Unraveling the truth is a tricky, burdensome business. Mona’s about as fond of it as she is of putting on eyeliner while sitting in a moving vehicle; it’s a needlessly complicated process, but necessary in the case of an emergency.

(Fashion emergencies count. Only fools think otherwise.)

Reality is as tangible as the ghosts that persist in haunting Rosewood. Facts become interwoven with hopes, opinions, and, yes, outright lies. Try to see anything up close and the specter vanishes. 

That is, unless you’re Mona. Somehow, she can see the weaknesses and fears that people believe they keep locked away. Always could. Soon she’ll make use of this gift.

She collects everyone’s secrets as if she’s stockpiling an arsenal.

*****

Soon after Alison’s… _disappearance_ , Mona’s father decides to take the family on vacation to France. She will miss a month of school, but Mona’s grades have never dropped below straight As. 

Fittingly enough.

Being intelligent wasn’t enough to win friends in Rosewood. And being wealthy, as her family certainly is, wasn’t enough either. One must bring a certain flair to being loaded, and Mona’s desperation for acceptance once canceled out all her other traits. She learned that lesson far too late. Her reputation had been set in stone.

But this vacation is a respite. Mona studies up on makeup and fashion like she’s drawing up battle strategies. Before, it would not have been in her best interest to change her personal style. It would have appeared more than a little pathetic. Popularity comes to those who don’t appear to try. Effortlessness translates into social currency. 

Now there is a power vacuum in Rosewood. From what she hears, even the people responsible for what happened to Alison are more like little lost lambs than conniving conspirators. 

Mona will step into this equation newly beautiful, newly intriguing, and unblemished by the ugliness of the late summer. 

She’ll snap her fingers, and minions will come running.

_Hanna_ will come running.

*****

There are advantages to having rich, slightly neglectful parents. 

Advantage number one: being able to meet with one of the foremost criminal minds in Europe without worrying overmuch about curfew. Mona believes she can harass Hanna and company easily, but having some expert guidance on the outset could be useful. Maybe Moriarty will even prove to be interesting.

Mona wonders if her contacts back home are leading her astray by sending her to this guy. Probably not. She’s unimpressed by them, as she’s unimpressed by nearly everyone in Rosewood. It’s like they need someone to do the thinking for them. Of a surety they seem overly willing to have her do the dirty work.

She can’t stay annoyed, however. Mona is oddly content, and basks in the emotion. This feels like an acceptable facsimile of freedom. Stealing her father’s rental car, driving much too fast, windows down, hair blowing in the wind. She’s got cigarettes, because it seems to complete the look, and she watches the smoke twirling up to the sky more than she watches the road. 

All the while, her mind never, ever stops twisting and turning.

*****

When Hanna ditched her for Alison, all Mona could think about was the awkward girl on the trampoline. 

The one who hopped back to earth and took a bow. 

Mona trusted in that bravery, and can’t quite stem the rage she feels to discover that her trust was misplaced. That she somehow never anticipated Hanna’s weakness.

It’s okay, though. Really. It’s fine. 

Mona will throw Hanna’s weaknesses into sharper focus. Hold up a mirror for her, and her new friends, to see them clearly. It’ll be her gift to them.

 *****

“Oh dear, aren’t _you_ young.” Moriarty invites her into his apartment and, all the while chewing on a stick of gum. Mona takes one look at his leer, thinks about the comment on her age, and decides he might very well fit in with the men at Rosewood. 

She sits across from him at a kitchen table. “And aren’t _you_ Irish.”

Moriarty sighs, seemingly disappointed. “You came highly recommended by your… friends. I think you can do better than that.” 

He has an odd way of talking. Articulate or not, it’s as thought speaking is a foreign concept to him. “I’m sorry. My mistake. I thought it was ‘obvious statement’ hour.” Mona giggles.

“Honey, you won’t be here for a minute, let alone an hour, if you don’t make this worth my time.” Something about the way he says it makes it clear she’d be leaving in a body bag if she doesn’t play this right.

Mona examines her nails. Damn. Some of the paint is chipped. She'll need to fix that later. “Busy schedule?”

“Hmm, I’m fitting you in between meetings with shadow governments and terrorist cells. So, yeah, you could say that.” He doesn’t blink. He keeps smiling. Mona can’t decide if he inhabits a role, or if a role inhabits him. She has a feeling she’ll relate one day. 

“Ooh, you are a busy boy. I’m flattered.” She lays her hands flat on the table. “So you’re not hard up for money or power?” Mona has money in spades, but it must be nice not to lack for influence. 

“Yep. I could always use more entertainment. Mona.” He says her name like it’s a new sentence. “I have yet to make up my mind on whether you’ll be boring.” 

Mona’s tempting fate here, but she feels the same dizzy giddiness one gets on roller coasters. And so little fear. “We- _I_ have plans for the next few years, but I will need your guidance. I need to understand hacking. And, let's be real, I’m not short on ideas for how to make someone’s life a living hell. But I'm always open to new suggestions. Consult away!” 

“I can see how thrilled you are about needing assistance. Would you like some gum?” 

She accepts the offer. As she chews away, Mona reflects on how little she likes asking for help. In science class she always prefers to dissect frogs without a partner. “It’s nothing personal.”

“Naturally.” 

And then Mona truly begins. She rattles off facts about what really happened to Alison, describes a certain group’s predilection for filming young girls, reveals how Jenna was blinded, and several someone’s stood by to let it happen. She talks and talks, sewing together all the sordid history of her pathetic little town. All the while, Moriarty simply watches. Occasionally he tilts his head to the side, surveying her with eyes that see everything but lack all emotion. 

“My, my, my.” he says, when she finishes. “I had no idea small-town America could be so dramatic.” He sounds mocking, disdainful, patronizing. But no longer disinterested in _her_. 

“Oh you don’t know the half of it.” She twists a strand over hair around one of her fingers, careful to not catch it on her rings. “Our nearest city is an hour away. And it’s Philadelphia.” 

Moriarty makes a low whistle. “Poor dear. My condolences.” 

“Well, if the shopping’s bad, I guess we have to fun in other ways, hm?” 

“Just as long as your idea of fun isn’t some tedious vigilante mission.” 

“Pfff, hardly. Idealism is so last season? I just want to make those bitches suffer.” Sometimes she just wants to burn that town to the ground, but there’s something unglamorous about arson. 

“Then I think we’ve come to an agreement.” Moriarty stands up, and Mona follows suit. They even shake hands. 

“But…” He trails off in a singsong voice. “This is a very elaborate way to get Hanna’s attention. Have you ever thought of just asking her out?” 

Mona draws in a sharp breath, and without thinking she reaches behind her for a kitchen knife. She jabs it against his abdomen, not hard enough to stab, but her threat is clear. “Don’t make that joke again.” 

“I had a feeling that was your weakness. Too bad for you. It’s one that can be easily manipulated.” Moriarty maneuvers so quickly, that it’s almost unbelievable. She hears the knife clatter to the floor somehow, and Moriarty has grabbed onto her hand. He’s bending one of her fingers back at an agonizing angle. Adrenaline floods Mona’s system. She fights the urge to shriek. Her mind’s eye constructs the potential outcome for her. The broken bone, the sharp bite of pain. But she won’t beg for him to let go. 

“Fine, fine. God. I’ll work on it.” 

Moriarty abruptly lets go. “That was quite a stunt, darling. Most of the time I tend to kill people for that sort of thing.” 

“And when you don’t?” Mona massages her hand, somehow admiring him far more than before.

“Why, then, you could say I almost admire them.” 

“You are full of compliments today. I’m going to blush.” 

Moriarty doesn’t take his eyes from her. “We’ll need to begin on the details today, I think.” 

“Hey, works for me!” Mona realizes she’s won this round. Or, at least, brought things to a draw. “I have a little under a year until Aria arrives. The sooner, the better.” 

“And didn’t you say you wanted to go by A in this scheme.” 

“A for Alison.” A for anonymous. A for anxiety. A for antipathy.

“Just remember not to monopolize every vowel. That would be so selfish.”

Mona blinks. “Okay, okay I only get A. Whatever. You get to keep E-”

“I, O, and U…”

"And sometimes Y?"

"Heh. Y... Why indeed?"

They have a deal.


End file.
